


drop the mic

by iamthemonsterchild, refinedgluttony



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I legit am using my bad Korean for Keith's POV, I legit wrote a song in spanish for Lance, Keith is a Korean rapper, Keith roasts Lance at some point, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance is a Latin artist, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rating May Change, Rivalry, Slow Burn, Translations are in the notes, Use of Multiple Languages, they debut in English at the same time so rivals lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-12-24 03:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12004059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthemonsterchild/pseuds/iamthemonsterchild, https://archiveofourown.org/users/refinedgluttony/pseuds/refinedgluttony
Summary: The music industry is cutthroat, that's for sure. Two very talented young men -Lance Martínez and Keith Kim- have been switching between each other at the #1 spot on the International Billboards since day one of their individual careers. Now there's talk of their English singles debuting at the same time. The fans are at each other's throats over this solo artist rivalry aka Pretty Girls vs. The Gold Mine. But then they meet face to face, and diss tracks aren't the only things flying off the shelves into the hands of fans. But maybe sparks as well?Illustrations coming soon!





	1. Fire - BTS

**Author's Note:**

> Original concept by iamthemonsterchild Story by refinedgluttony  
> find us on our social media!  
> Insta: i_am_the_monster_child Tumblr: iamthemonsterchild  
> Insta: refinedgluttony Tumblr: refinedgluttony Twitter: @refinedgluttony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two very hardworking young men are chasing their dreams. But it seems that fate has set them up.

   Keith flung his knife upwards again and caught it in the same hand. It was this very motion that was currently keeping him sane. His back was pressed against the wall, beside a half open door in a dark hall.

   A window at the far end of the hall was illuminated by the condensed neon of the outside city in the almost-familiar Hangul characters of Korean.

   His manager, Takashi Shirogane was in the near room, taking part in the most intense conversation Keith had ever heard in his life.

   He wasn't above eavesdropping, which is what he was used to doing anyhow. Thanks to multiple suspensions from school when he was younger. Much good it did him anyway, since the ambience of the boiler outside the window did a good job of drowning out most of the exchange taking place in the bright room.

   A man whose decision would decide Keith's future interrupted Shiro from speaking.

   “그것은 불가능합니다.”

   “제이 씨-” Shiro began again.

 “그는 어디 있니?” The man asked suddenly, his tone changing. He had interrupted Shiro and Keith never felt so close to punching someone he had never met and was supposed to offer the utmost respect.

 Shiro was there for Keith through anything, as a mentor and and close friend. In fact, ever since Shiro quit his idol days to become a publicist and then immediately committed to being his manager, he had bent himself backwards getting Keith whatever connections or pulled strings to get him discovered and into the mainstream as fast as he had been able to.

   He was the first person to say that Keith had a skill for rapping with an objective eye, and with his determination to dance and sing too, he told him he could pile drive his way to the top of the billboards if he disciplined himself and was patient.

   Keith was brought back to the present with Shiro’s hesitance to answer the other man.

   “그는 여기 있습니다.” Shiro finally said.

   “그를 데려와.”

   Keith gasped, dropping his knife to the floor, the door opening full swing without warning and hitting his side sharply.

 Shiro’s head leaned in from the brightness pouring in from the room, his hand still on the knob of the door. His eyebrows quirked with concern at Keith being caught off guard.

   “Sorry.” He apologized.

  Keith took his knife from the floor, recovering himself as gracefully and quickly as possible. “It's fine.”

   “It's your cue, buddy.” Shiro said, stepping aside to make room for Keith to make his entrance. “Jay wants to see you.”

   Even though he had expected it, it was another matter entirely to be faced with a media mogul who had the power to make or break your path to stardom. Especially one that adopts an English name for a simple demonstration of power.

   Keith took a small breath, pocketed his knife, and entered the bright-as-hell room.

   There was a roundness to most of the furniture, but the coffee table in front of him doubled as a bookshelf and had a built-in ashtray, though unexpectedly it was not in use.

   On the couch across the coffee table was Mr. Jay, a very standard-issue Korean man in his early forties by the looks of his frown lines and surprise lines. His face spoke of a past of being handsome, but now had a few years on him. He was dressed as if he was younger, with a graphic shirt underneath a light colored suit jacket and well fitted dark jeans. Certainly putting the “casual”, in business casual.

   Keith found his own two-piece suit stiflingly formal in comparison. Now he wished he had insisted to Shiro on a more casual outfit to meet with Jay today. Well, what’s done is done, and he would have make the most of it.

   Jay’s dark eyes lit up at the sight of Keith’s face.

   “Wow!" he began. “You are Keith, yes?”

   His English sounded good so far. Keith felt the pressure of having to speak his rather bad Korean to the mogul lift at least two pounds from his anxiety.

   “Yes, sir.”

   “Please, please. Take a seat.” Jay said quickly, eager to get the conversation rolling again.

   Keith took this as a good sign, and visibly relaxed into the empty couch that Shiro formerly had sat in. Shiro stood closely, using his standing position next to Keith as a sort of display of respect and to fade into the background. It was Keith’s moment to shine and be able to sell himself well to Jay.

   Jay took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, “I hear from my people that you can rap very well. How is your singing?”

   “It’s good.” Keith offered. “I can play piano. I have a dance trainer too. I get better everyday.”

   “You have very nice eyes. Double lidded. Gray, almost dark blue. Are they natural?” Jay asked, leaning into the arm rest and taking a drag from his lit cigarette. Shiro had briefed him that when Jay gets comfortable enough to smoke around a potential star, that person would leave with good referrals or an immediate contract.

   Keith did not let this fact get to his head and kept his professional composure.

   “Yes, I have a mother with blue eyes.” Keith said, trying to contain his growing self-consciousness about his appearance. His physical features have always done him well in interviews and talent screenings. You couldn’t make it with skill alone and Keith always found himself thanking his genes for some serious saves from pit falls, weirdly enough.

   “I see from your file that you used to be a student in American university. Why the sudden change?” Jay asked. The smoke from his lungs slowly let out of his mouth at rest.

   Uh oh. This was the deal breaker. Keith had to sell this next line very carefully.

   His right hand ached to tremble in the absence of his knife, but Keith banished the habit away by biting down on his own tongue.

   “The university wasn’t ready for someone with my spirit. But the rest of the world is and I’m willing to work hard to get there.” He said without a pause or a stutter. Perhaps the reason why he had quit was because Shiro had left and Keith had felt lost without him near. The nights of uncertainty and dread were still fresh in his mind, even if he was miles away from the U.S. Keith felt like a war without a cause, a tool without a use and rapping was what made him feel like he had a place in the world. He wanted to take it, whether the opposition would let him or not.

   Jay went quiet, taking another drag of his cigarette and letting it out in one take.

   Keith mentally told his lungs to shut up until the whole thing was over, though his eyes were already watering and his nose was twitching too.

   It felt like Jay had felt the intent behind what Keith had said. He hoped he hadn’t sounded desperate. The last thing he wanted was a pity contract, even if it was better than no contract at all.

   The Korean mogul flipped Keith’s open file closed and Keith’s heart sank to his gut in expected rejection, but then Jay snuffed his cigarette in the ashtray and stood with a smile.

   “We cannot keep the world waiting. We will make you a big star, Keith!”

   Keith was floored, his bones turned to instant concrete and it was hard to breathe but now for a different reason. He felt a hard pat from Shiro, which knocked his body back into gear along with the basic functions to let oxygen into his brain.

   Shiro shook Jay’s hand. “You won’t regret this, Mr. Jay.”

   Keith reached to shake the business man’s hand as he stood, smiling from adrenaline relief more than out of gratitude.

   “There is a fire in your eyes, Mr. Kim. Do not lose it. I will have you trained here and your album launch campaign to the board will be presented in 3 month’s time!” Jay exclaimed, straightening his jacket and lighting another cigarette.

   Wait. Three months? Keith abstained from asking anything, but Shiro’s mouth moved without a sound, maybe coming to the same conclusion Keith did.

   “3 months?,’ Shiro finally asked. “Why so soon, Mr. Jay?”

   Jay took a drag and let it out with a long sigh. His frown lines deepened again, most likely from what he would say.

   “We have a direct competitor in Latin America, a company called Holt Corporation. They are planning to release a solo talent on the same timeframe with a much younger contender to the international billboards. I have heard he is gifted, and very handsome in addition. We must release at the same time or be left in their dust and/or compared to them. I believe that Keith is a perfect and much awaited addition to your plan for him to reach English speaking audiences and mine for both international and national recognition. This will benefit us both.” He explained.

   Keith met Shiro’s eyes. It was obvious that they were thinking along the same lines.

   This would be the time crunch of a lifetime. Keith had already made up his mind.

   “Where do I sign?” Keith said simply.

   Jay let out a smoky laugh. “This boy is pure fire! Where did you find this gem, Mr. Shirogane?”

   Shiro gave Keith a small teasing smile. “I have no idea.”

  It was settled. Jay called in an assistant who arrived with multi-layered forms and these were set upon the coffee table. Keith could understand basic things, like the empty spaces were definitely for him to sign, and other keywords like D.O.B and other phrases.

   “Also, Mr. Kim. How is your Korean?” Jay inquired conversationally.

   Keith’s eyes darted up at Jay. Worry nipped at his neck. He decided to be honest.

   “I can sing in Korean, no problem. I’m not good with conversation, though.”

   The mogul seemed sort of satisfied with that answer, typing a few things into his smart phone wordlessly.

   “I’ll be sure to hire my best teacher then, because we need to get you on a talk show.”

   “Talk show?” Both he and Shiro asked at the same time. A talk show, this early on? Keith had barely signed the contract. 

   “I can make it happen. We must make the world impatient to catch your fire, Mr. Kim. To make a fire, you must scratch out a spark.”

 

* * *

 

   Lance broke through a merchandise stand with hundreds of t-shirts with his face on them. The aftermath being what was left of the hundreds of signed post cards and rolled up posters falling from the air like some strange hip-hop manna from heaven, thankfully covering his escape from the small but persistent group of girls that had been chasing him.

   The now irritating vibration of his iPhone started in his front pocket again, he pulled it out as he sprinted, green button pressed.

   “Hello?” He asked breathlessly into the receiver.

   “LANCE, YOU’RE GONNA BE LATE TO YOUR OWN CONCERT!”

   “Cut me some slack, Hunk! I was chased by a horde of girls!” Lance said testily, darting behind other numerous merch stands and a very confused hot dog vendor who was now short a hot dog.

   Lance bit heartily into the warm mustard goodness of the hot dog. It was a big relief from the ritual fasting his manager had been making him do in preparation of the concert. He’d make sure to pay the vendor back when the concert let out.

  “Is this ‘horde of girls’ the same one you were taking photos with in front of the diner across the street?”

  “N-no.” Lance lied. He pulled up his hood to avoid being seen from the passer-by making their way to the concert venues. The same concert he was supposed to be performing in exactly 4 minutes.

  “I can’t believe you, man.” Hunk said. “You worked so hard for this.”

  The disappointment in his voice crushed Lance’s feelings a bit. He had never thought he’d be literally running late to his own concert before.

   “Their sister couldn’t be there! It was the least I could do for them.”

   “And now you’re exacerbating your vocal chords and wasting your stamina running from those very same girls.”

   Lance groaned. “I don’t need this, I’m hanging up.” He made a jump over a dumpster, and hung from a jutting minaret, swinging himself up to an open second story window of the concert hall.

   “He sticks the landing!” He cheers to himself, and starts booking it down the hall to his dressing room.

   The silver plaque read ‘Dressing Room’ and it swung open to reveal a haggard and anxious Samoan man.

   “Lance! Did you scale up the side of the building?” Hunk immediately questioned as he helped Lance put on his microphone and brushing off any dust that may have landed on his clothes from the world outside.

   “Maybe.” Lance teased as he gave his appearance a final brush over in the well lit mirror. He hoped he imagined that single drop of sweat on his left temple.

   Hunk groaned. “You told me those parkour lessons were for emergency getaways from stalkers. Not to use them to scale buildings in front of a sold out concert. What if you got hurt or arrested?”

  “Relax, big guy. I'm fine.” Lance said, turning around to see the bouquets and small gifts on the make up table. Receiving handmade gifts and store bought alike gave him warm fuzzy feelings.

   Stamina and vocal chords be damned, the happiness of his fans was his own.

   The door swung open again to reveal a tall sandy-haired woman in a ponytail. She readjusted her glasses, a beep came from her walkie-talkie as it came to life. Lance's manager took the walkie-talkie from its black holster and turned it on.

    “The boy is in the building. We're on in 3.” Katie Holt said into the receiver, eyeing Lance from where she stood, which he returned with a sheepish smile.

  The walkie-talkie was put away. “I'm giving you non-stop vocalizing sessions for this later, Martínez. Right now we gotta bus you on stage, so get moving!”

   “Yes ma’am!” Both men answered to their manager, sprinting out of the room to get Lance in front of the intended audience.

    After a flight of stairs, Lance was quickly ushered on the catwalk above stage, the noise of the masses below them, and Hunk checking his microphone again.

     “We did it, Hunk.” Lance said excitedly, covering his mic from picking him up.

    Hunk blew air between his lips at that. “What did I do? Those people came to see you, not me.”

    “It couldn't have happened without you, buddy.” Lance insisted, giving his best friend a tight one-armed squeeze.

    “Aw, be careful with your mic. Knock ‘em dead Lance.” Hunk smiled as he led himself off the catwalk, giving the dancers below a wave of encouragement. “Break a leg, everyone!”

  The lights in the concert hall dimmed, and the roar of the crowd dulled with interest. A bright blue searchlight turned on behind Lance, shining over his legs and the dancers ready on the stage below.

   “ _A mí me gusta~_ ” Lance sang teasingly, enjoying the frenzied screaming that followed it. The electric piano slowly escalating his song as the searchlight kept moving over him and the dancers, silhouetted from the front. The catwalk began to lower, and Lance took a breath dramatically, the song stopping abruptly.

  A hush falls over the packed people in the hall.

   “ _Que pasa, Puerto Rico!!_ ” Lance called out, receiving a thunderous response back from the sweltering masses. “ _Gracias por venir_.”

   It never left Lance to thank his fans for coming to his first concert, this was a moment made of magic. Every breath he took was filled with purpose.

    After a few more tantalizing seconds of silence, it was time to officially break into the first song.

    “ _A mí me gustan las damas locas_ ,” He sang out, the heavy reggaeton beats starting the song, the dancers jumping into their choreography. “ _Loca, locas. Loca, locas. Yo nomás quiero que me tocas. Toca, tocas. Toca, tocas_.”

        The catwalk lowered until it sunk into the stage, snapping in place like a puzzle piece and smoke erupted from openings around the perimeter of the catwalk, the searchlight dimming and the overhead lights illuminating the stage along with the dancers. Lance joined in the choreography, strutting and stepping fast to the beat, pivoting with each snap of the heavy bass beat and bouncing up to the very edge of the stage.  

  He leaned down as far as he dared to the people nearest him.

  “ _Tú eres la luz de mi vida, no te pones muy sentida. Te veo en mis sueños, eres mi fantasía. Y cuando tu te pones acercar, mi corazón comienza apretar. Yo no sé cómo lo haces pero ahorita me da igual_.” Lance rapped the verse with passion, the girl nearest him handed him a blue rose, the trademark of his first album. He kissed the rose quickly and brushed it gently against her lips; she held her head in her hands in response.

  He rejoined with the dancers, putting the rose behind his right ear. “ _A mí me gustan las damas locas. Loca, locas. Loca, locas. Quiero enredar nuestras bocas. Boca, bocas. Boca, bocas. Clamame esta noche. Clamame esta noche. En tu cama o en tu coche. Dama loca, dama loca. Me gusta cuando toca, tus dientes en mi boca, y cuando tu me topas, que quites mi ropa. Dama loca. Dama loca. A mi me gusta. Las damas locas.”_

   Lance slowly swung his hips to the receding beat. “This your Pretteh Boy, baby.”

    The song ends and hundreds of cheers greet him. A sea of crazed hands and arms sway in all directions like waves towards Lance's tall and well lit figure.

       The opening guitar strings to _Océano Mío_ begin to envelope the concert hall, and Lance is handed a guitar by one of the dancers and he settles into a stool in front of a lowering white tarp and the lights dim to a turquoise. An overhead machine hidden by the bright lights runs a projection of a beach on the tarp behind him, the moving seascape over his body as he sits and strums.

    “ _Sì tu me extrañas, por los futuro mañanas, yo te pido que veas mis vídeos y cocinas esos fideos que nos encantan y yo juro que yo, estoy haciendo, lo mismo._ ” He strummed, looking out towards the now calmer ocean of eyes and people, now swaying from side to side, most holding up lights and signs.

   Lance smiled through the solemn notes.

 

   Life couldn't be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please if you see any mistakes in my bad Korean, tell me and I'll happily correct it!  
> Korean:  
> It is impossible.  
> Mr. Jay-  
> Where is he?  
> He is here.  
> Bring him in. 
> 
> Spanish(not an exact translation, but a translation that would sound nicer in English):  
> You know that I like~  
> What's up, Puerto Rico!? Thanks for coming.  
> You know that I like a crazy lady. Crazy lady. Crazy lady.  
> And I only want you baby. Want you baby. Want you baby.  
> You know you're my infatuation, the reason for my creation.  
> I see you in my dreams, during the day and in my sleep.  
> And when you get close enough to touch, my heart beats fast cause it's too much.  
> I don't know how but I don't care now and I wanna rush.  
> You know that I like a crazy lady. Crazy lady. Crazy lady.  
> I go crazy when you call me "baby". Call me "baby". Call me "baby".  
> Make me yours tonight. Make me yours tonight. Whether wrong or right. Crazy lady. Crazy Lady.  
> Your hands on me, my hands on you, and when we kiss, it gets hot too. You know I love you crazy lady.  
> My Ocean  
> If you miss me in the morning, put ramen on the stove and look at the videos I made for you.  
> I promise I'm doing the same thing, at the same time somewhere, and I miss you too.


	2. Quien Eres Tu - Nelson Ned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katie isn't letting her threat go to waste... but then they realize that Keith Kim's single has taken the #1 spot from Lance again. And here comes the anger and the sadness.
> 
> And the denial of a growing curiosity that is more than envy and competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow story progress on twitter! @refinedgluttony 
> 
> Patreons get to see chapter 3 and story illustrations early~! patreon.com/refinedgluttony  
> 

  Okay, maybe life could be a little better.

  The Holt Corporation studio in the states was as cold in the cruelest way a place could be to an occupant. The lighting was bright and warm but it was an illusion. Lance could have run a marathon with a waterfall of sweat on his skin but as soon as he entered that studio, the sweat droplets would turn into ice crystals and snap off of him into the even more cold floor. There, the droplet would ding around like a pinball and hit everything else before breaking into dust from the velocity.

  Okay, he was exaggerating, but his pectorals had always felt like frozen slabs chaffing against his shirt in the grossest way. Thank goodness this Puerto Rican studio was merciful, that is, the large and very accommodating recreation room of said temp studio. Lance was stretched out on a deep brown couch, huffing in his hands to keep his vocal chords warm. "Do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, do~" He repeated for (in his mind) the seven-millionth time. 

  "Make me believe it, Martinez." Katie said simply without looking up from her laptop at a high table behind him.

  "Ugh, when are you gonna let me gooooo," he groaned, going boneless as he laid on the couch. Lance knew he most likely sounded like a 6-year-old, but his manager didn't even grimace.

  "I can't go soft on you just ‘cause I love you." She deadpanned, _tackety-tackety-tacking_ away at her keyboard and taking a small sip of her coffee. "I am a business woman and I will have order in my corp."

  "Did you just make a pun to make a point?" Lance asked as he sat up on his elbows, quirking an eyebrow.

  "I may have. Also, I can't hear you vocalizing."

  "It's been hourrrrrrs. Give me a break, please!" He begged her.

  "I told you 2 hours. It’s only barely been one. You got 27 minutes to go." Katie pointed out, finally looking away from her computer and pushing it back on the table.

  "What were you working on, anyway."

  "Are you actually interested or are you trying to burn the rest of the time I assigned?" She asked him, her left brow furrowing.

  Lance rested his chin over the couch pillows, peering at his manager innocently. "A bit of both?"

  Katie sighed at that. "Well, I've been receiving emails about Go Star." Her eyes darted back to her screen.

  "Go Star?" Lance straightened up, sitting up tall in the couch with wide eyes. "You mean the guys who back that Kim dude?"

   Word was, he had debuted at the same time Lance did because someone leaked a screenshot of  the debut schedule, and by the time the company scrambled for damage control, it had been seen and shared and although it was taken down when asked, Go Star must have caught wind and kept the information in mind, finally finding a potential star to buffer Lance’s first single named ‘Oceano mio’ with a similar ballad style song called ‘Take All Of Me’. Internet security had doubled after that, and Katie only trusted 7 other people to see the debut schedules ahead of time now apart from him and Hunk.

  That and constant monitoring. Katie and some security personnel had access to the monitors of every computer being used in the building and access to the internet bandwidth speed. If anyone could see what was wrong the moment it happened, it was Katie Holt.

  "Yep. He's taken #1 at the Billboards from us again." She said.

  "W-What?!" He sputtered, sitting up on his knees on the couch. "That's crazy! 'Dama loca' was #1 for a 2 weeks! He did the same thing with 'Oceano mio' too!"

  "We’re lucky no one tipped them off about the show. I’m not sure I could handle a headache from that if that had happened. I don’t want the debut thing to happen again." Katie said. She had that crease in her left eyebrow again. Lance knew it only showed up when she was stressed. He couldn't imagine being 20 and having to deal with as much as she did. “They were smart about it too. It would make sense to find someone to debut at the same time, so as not to be compared to you if after, or look suspicious if the debut came before yours.”

   Lance crossed his arms and blew a hard breath between his lips. "What's his appeal anyway? There's lots of rappers in the business."

  The door to the room opened and in came Hunk with the on-time legendary food cart, prepared by none other than himself. His jack-of-all-trades professionalism applied itself to Lance's favorite foods and it was a given that Lance Martínez couldn't function without his best friend's amazing skills. Hunk stared between their manager and Lance, an impish smile curling his lips.

  "Is this a bad time?"

  "Nope buddy, you saved the day again with your presence!" Lance chirped, hopping to his feet to help himself to the lovingly prepared milanesa on the trays. He gave himself a healthy helping on a clean plate and took at least three cut limes to drown the fried fish in along with some Valentina hot sauce.

  "Just in time, Hunk,' Katie chuckled. "Keith Kim took our spot again."

  "Aw man, really? Jeez, I was hoping the after-concert high would keep Lance from complaining out of his mopey-ness." said Hunk.

  "My hearing ability doesn't change when I'm eating, Hunk!" Lance said between a bite of fish and of a buttered loaf of bread.

  "Hey, once you sang Mariah Carey in the shower for a straight hour, I had to practically untangle you from the shower curtain." Hunk asked, serving Katie a plate of food from the hot trays.

  “I cope how I want. Right now, this milanesa and rice is giving me the pep talk of a lifetime.”

  “Enjoy your meal, Martínez. I’m resetting your time after this.” Katie pointed out, taking the sassiest bite of her milanesa.

   “Ughhhhhhh.” Lance groaned through his food, eating it with a sadness and disappointment no one has while eating Hunk’s food.

  “I’ve _never_ seen you that sad while eating.” Hunk said as he topped off the food tray after serving himself and took a seat at the table across from Katie. “How about we go to a spa later, you and me?”

   Lance’s eyebrows skyrocketed. “Heck _yeah_! I saw a really cool one down the street from here! They have peach baths!” He thanked God and every saint he could think of for having the most amazing best friend in the whole wide universe. Getting pampered was exactly what he needed right now, especially after getting aches from dancing and that parkour episode and stupid dumb Keith Kim.

   The bodyguard/cook/sound engineer/Lance’s best friend gave Katie a hopeful smile.

  “Hahhh... fine.” Katie said. She rubbed her temple, checking the time on her computer again. “Be back by 2. Lance needs his rest for the photo shoot tomorrow morning.”

  “Can do.” Hunk answered, quickly high-fiving Lance over the table.

  Katie looked at Lance in confusion. “Why do you celebrate, young wart? He didn’t save you from those 20 minutes left for vocalizing.”

  “She’s _right_ , you _traitor!_ ” Lance said, completely scandalized as he threw a piece of fish at Hunk who couldn’t help chuckling an apology.

  After 20 absolutely torturous minutes of vocalizing, it was off to the spa. ‘Come on, only 17 more minutes Lance! You got this!’ Hunk had said. Lance answered with a ‘Do re mi fa so fucking done with you, girl~’ which Katie had allowed because it was still counted as going through the notes. So Lance had spent the remaining 17 minutes singing ‘Do Re Mi’ by Blackbear until their manager became sick of the song and kicked them out to send out emails and instructions to security and admins in preparation for the photo shoot.

  The duo were too eager to hightail it out of the studio to the spa in lovely Puerto Rican weather. The ocean could be seen clearly from a distance, the sprawling streets built on hills gave pedestrians the perfect view of the seaside, a defense line of colorful umbrellas were spread out on the beaches visible from the distance. They arrived to a spa which pretty cursive lettering called ‘La Muñeca’ which Lance graciously translated to Hunk as ‘The Doll’.

   They saw the sign ‘Bienvenidos Todos’ and Lance took the first step in, leading in Hunk who initially protested in case walk-ins weren’t welcome.

   A nice-looking lady waved them in. “Ah! Bienveni’o a La Muñeca, como puedo ayudalos? ¿Usted está buscan’o alguien?” Her accent was cute to Lance, but he gave her a small shake of his head.

  “Estamos interesa’os en tu especial durazno en nuestra cita.” He answered with a smile.

 The woman blushed as she laughed, a bit surprised to seeing men come in for a spa appointment, but she kindly gave them each a pamphlet listing their specials and services.

  “El durazno está en tempora’a y por eso tenemos el especial. Tu también estás interesa’o en nuestro especial?”  She gestured towards Hunk, who caught on and waved his hands.

   “Perdón. No hablo español.” He said without missing a beat, giving the conversation back to Lance.

   “Si, incluyeo por favor. Lo mismo.” Lance answered for him.

  “Perfecto. Quieren el manicure y pedicure tambien? Máscaras de' tratamiento de exfoliación?” The lady asked as she filled out a form for them.

  “Si.” He affirmed. “Incluye un masaje también, por favor. Es todo.”

  “Excelente, por favor siganme.”

  They were led to a locker room, a smaller one split off from the main lockers due to the circumstances. There they were left alone to undress and get ready.

  “Man, it’s been too long since I’ve gone anywhere for the sake of pampering.” Lance said, his voice momentarily muffled as he popped his shirt off over his head.

   “What exactly did you sign us up for?” Hunk asked as he put away his clothes, slipping  on a bathrobe hanging inside his chosen locker.

   “Manicure, pedicure. Exfoliation treatment. Massage. The works.” Lance answered with the biggest grin from ear to ear.

   “Sounds heavenly,’ Hunk sighed peacefully. “Well deserved after preparing for the concert for a solid month. We’ve earned this.”

  Lance stuffed his clothes with the wallet in his back pocket and locked it in tight after taking out the bathrobe to put it on. He tied it quickly.

  “You are very right, mi amigo. Very right.” said Lance and they both exited the locker room to the first course of their very anticipated day of pampering.

  A few girls walked past them before they entered the room that was lined wall to wall in chairs where women sat being serviced and given foot massages. They chuckled to themselves as they saw the both of them until one set of eyes amongst them grew wider than a flat 30” inch TV.

  “AH! ERES LANCE?! ERES LANCE! CECILIA IT’S LANCE.” She squealed, almost hitting her closest friend in the face as she ran down the hall again up to Lance. As soon as her friends realized what they were seeing when they both met both Lance and Hunk’s eyes and then they started making a mad dash after her.

  “Amo, amo, amo ‘dama loca’, es mi cancion mas favorita de tu concierto!” The girl said, her words jumbled up from excitement and nerves. She had highlights in her short dark hair and dark eyes.

   “Gracias, gracias, fue divertido bailandola. Fueron al concierto las tres?” Lance asked the set of girls, giving them all hugs as if they were old friends.

   “Oh my god, I flew in all the way from Florida to be here to see it!” One of them said, she had long straight hair and dark eyes.

    “Holy crap, _thank you!”_ Lance said gratefully, giving her another hug. “I super appreciate it. Can you believe I was almost late to my own concert?”

   “ _I_ can.” Hunk cheekily put in and Lance gave his side a playful bump. He gave the girl a hug as well.

  “Rude, don’t listen to him. Hey, you girls know anything about Keith Kim?”

 “Oh, the K-rap guy? Yeah, we know about what happened.” The third girl said, she had brown eyes and brown curly hair. “I’m really sorry your debut didn’t go as planned. We’ve been following you since you were a Youtuber, and Cecilia here cried when he took ‘dama loca’ from #1 today.”  

 “I didn’t cry that much...” The girl that had recognized Lance first, with the highlights in her short hair, said.

 “Don’t tease her, Ix Chel.” The pink haired girl said. To which the girl named Ix Chel simply stuck her tongue out with a smile.

 “Does he already have a fanbase?” Lance asked Ix Chel, honestly grateful for the intel even if he had come to the spa to unwind and relax. A part of him was now super curious of what his Pretty Girls thought of Keith Kim.

  “Oh yeah, it’s small but the hashtag ‘TheGoldMine’ can show up everywhere if you look for it,’ Ix Chel said, her hand waving at something in the air. “It’s what the fans call themselves because Kim means “gold” in Korean and all the solo artist stans are flocking to him like a duck to water.”

  “But we still love you! You worked so hard to get here and make your show happen, we’re super proud of you!” Cecilia said, giving Lance’s shoulder a squeeze.

  Lance was touched that they thought that way, and suddenly the anxiety surrounding the name “Keith Kim” was only a passing thought. “Hey, you girls wanna take pictures?”

  They all let out a “yes” in various volumes, Hunk took Cecilia’s offered phone and snapped at least 5 group shots. Then Lance took the phone and pulled Hunk into the last three shots. “Everyone say ‘Lance’!” Lance said, tilting the screen as high as he could to get everyone in.

  “Laaaaaaaaaance!” They all laughed and the girls thanked them for the photos and promptly left for their lockers.

  “Now they look happier than when we found them.” Hunk chuckled, following Lance to enter the room and greeting the other women there like they were regulars, to which the ladies laughed and greeted back happily.

  “This is the life,” Lance said ceremoniously as his already shiny toes and fingers wiggled happily from the mani-pedi they had received not 10 minutes ago. “The service here is fast and friendly. We should tip them a big fat bill.”

  “Tell me about it, when I asked the lady if the peach bath could still be edible, she gave me a peach to sample before we get in!” Hunk said with wide eyes as he happily took a bite from the peach. “They're 10/10 in my book .”

  “Aw cool! Wait. How'd you ask the lady, Mr. No Hablo Español?” Lance asked.

  “The language of food is universal.”

  Lance laughed. “Can't argue with that.”

  Exfoliation masks in full spread, Lance and Hunk sank happily in the sweetest, tarty-est, and most heavenly hot peach slice bath, the fruits cut in the thinnest slivers floating on the surface of the water. Some clung on their elbows and chests when they bobbed in the water. The television mounted was playing Top 40s mixes.

   The prior week had been a real golf course, and just like a golf course it had low points and high points (most caused by He Who Shall Not Be Mentioned) but in the end, Lance was in a spa with his best friend post-concert bliss. Honestly, this was good and nothing could ruin it.

   That is, until Lance noticed that Hunk had been really fidgety since they got the mani-pedis.

  Hunk was picking at the peach slices on his elbow, his eyes darting back to Lance every once in a while.

  When Lance would catch his quick eyes, he'd fiddle with another gathering of slices.

  The Latin singer rubbed a drenched hand on his neck with a pained groan, careful not to get water on his face. “Alright buddy, what is it?”

  “What?” Hunk said, letting his hand drop into the hot water.

  Lance turned to his friend. “You have the ‘something is up but I'm not sure whether to bring it up or not’ face. So, shoot. What's bothering you?”

  “Oh. Right. Man, nothing gets past you, huh?”

  “Now you're trying to change the subject.”

  “Jesus, Lance. It's creepy how close we are, but fine,” Hunk finally let himself relax fully in the bath, as if he had been holding in the tension the whole day. “I was gonna ask if you feel better or not but I was worried it would dampen the mood or whatever if I said anything about the elephant in the room.”

  “Aw, thanks man. Don't worry, consider me officially cheered up. Hands down, the best day I've have all week.” Lance ended the thought with a content hum to the television ending a song in the room.

  Then a new beat began, this one was more upbeat.

  The lyrics were in Korean.

  Lance sat up stick straight and listened more intently to the now present artist. Reaching over, he grabbed a nearby remote and turned up the speaker volume from the bath.

  “Uh... song you like?” Hunk asked, his eyebrow raising in utter confusion.

  But Lance didn't answer, only raising a single finger. His blue eyes asking a favor for silence.

  They both sat in silence as the beat of the music became louder.

  It was k-pop, there was no doubt.

  The song was a jam. The vocals were light and airy, the vocal definition of The Boy Next Door. Then the same voice did a 180 and became a hot, intense and heavy beast. The Hot and Heavy Beast had stomped out The Boy Next Door from the spotlight, and as suddenly as the rap verse had come, the voice devolved back into The Boy Next Door.

  Holy shit, how did that happen? This was the same person? Who could own such a voice?

   “You don't think...?” Hunk began.

  “There's no way.” Lance finished. Both of them turned towards the screen showcasing the music video of said song. There danced the athletic and fashionably decked out K-rapper, in front of a huge row of abandoned cars and fingers fitted with silver rings.

  His lovely iris-colored eyes fixed on the camera, melting every viewer who might have the channel on. The song officially climaxed, text appearing along the bottom of the screen.

 

 

Top 40 - #1

 “Forest  Fire”

  Keith Kim

  GO STAR RECORDS

  Go Star Records

 

  Lance splashed the water angrily, or rather, as angry a splash as one could manage when in a peach bath. “AW COME ON!”

  “I think your Abuela is punishing you for for all those years we terrorized her cat. May she rest in peace.”

  “Nah man, Abuela was a saint. This is war, and in war there are battles to be won and lost.”

  “Please tell me that isn't a Sun Tzu quote.”

  “I can’t escape him! He’s everywhere!” Lance said, ignoring Hunk’s jab. “It’s like I’ve been pitted against him since even before I was born.”

   “That is definitely a reference to a love song, somehow.” Hunk said.

  “HUNK!’ Lance threw his best friend an expectant look, his hand gesturing accusingly. “You’re supposed to be _consoling_ me, not making music references!”

   “Listen Lance, I know that the industry is this really heartless monster sometimes, but Keith didn’t kill your Abuela. I don’t know, he might be a cool guy outside this whole “rivalry” thing.  Or just in real life. You’ve never met him, maybe just think of it as friendly competition. Music is always competition.” Hunk offered, finally wiping away at the exfoliation mask with the peach bathwater.

  “I guess... that it’s the companies going against each other and stuff. But does he really have to be everywhere I go? His stupid hair, his eyes and that weirdly specific thing his voice does.” Lance’s rant drifted from angry to a declining mutter. He started wiping his face clean of the mask.

  Hunk laughed.

  “What?” Lance asked.

  “Nothing, it’s just....you sound like some tantrum-my kindergartner trying to convince the girl he likes that he doesn’t like her.”

   “WHU-WHA--” Lance’s face went hot at that. Did he have to stutter so loudly? Oh god, maybe he should have phrased what he said better, too. “I am _not_ attracted to him! Not him or his dumb hair.”

   “Oh no, Lancey-Lance has it bad!” Hunk teased, splashing his best friend. “Keith Kim, his one and only sworn enemy may also be #1 in his heart too!”

   “Hunk, stop! You’re wrong!” Lance splashed harder back at him.

  “Lance no! You’re letting all the water out! What if we get kicked out?”

  “Oh crap!”  It was true, a good amount of the water had slipped out of the in-ground bath tub and carried the remote away from reaching distance, which meant that turning off the TV with Keith staring into the desert to ‘Forest Fire’ was not an option.

   The two of them had to watch the rest of the music video as Keith danced in the middle of a bright room with trees on fire around him. The camera closed in on Keith’s eyes, the fire reflected into them and making them glow.

   Lance was _not_ happy about it, he wasn’t.

   He wasn’t.

   Lance hated Keith Kim. Or at least disliked him. Nope, definitely hate.

   He hated Keith.

   Hated Keith.

  “Light you up like a forest fire~” Keith threatened seductively from the TV, his face giving an innocent look but his eyes promised something not intended for a G rating.

   Keith. Hate.

  Were his eyes naturally that color or were they contacts?

 

  Whatever, Lance didn’t care.

 

  He didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ah! Welcome to The Doll, how may I help you? Are you looking for someone?  
> We're interested in the peach special for our appointment.  
> The peach is in season so that is why we have the special. Are you also interested in our special?  
> Yes, include him please. The same thing.  
> Perfect. Do you want the mani-pedo too? Exfoliation mask treatment?  
> Include a massage too, please. That's it.  
> Excellent, please follow me.  
> AH! YOU'RE LANCE? YOU'RE LANCE!  
> I love, love, love, 'Crazy Lady', it's my favorite song from your concert!  
> Thank you, thank you, it was fun dancing to it. The three of you went to the concert?


	3. Can't Help Myself - Eric Nam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith's Korean lessons aren't getting any easier, and later he becomes infatuated with a certain Cuban boy's songwriting.  
> Murphy's law comes into play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow story progress on twitter! @refinedgluttony  
> Patreons get to see chapter 4 and story illustrations early~! patreon.com/refinedgluttony

  It had been a week since “Forest Fire” had hit #1 and stayed there. But the collective conscious of Go Star knew that it was only a matter of time before Lance’s “Dama loca” would switch back up to reclaim the spot if Keith Kim’s Gold Mine didn't attract more fans and popularity. A clip of the concert Holt Corporation had hosted in Puerto Rico was trending #3 on YouTube, merchandise was everywhere, and video footage from the show was popping up everywhere on the social media accounts of every concert goer who had been there.

  Music was music, but Keith had to charm the public with appearances and let footage of it reach both national and international viewers online.

  ‘Social media is the easy publicity we needed since the beginning of publicity’, Jay would joke to Shiro and Keith.

  And so far? It was working. Keith’s instagram account had reached 500 followers within the week of the release of a demo of “Forest Fire”. The hashtag “TheGoldMine” was starting to show up wherever you happened to look. Honestly, to have a fanbase sort of freaked Keith out a little bit. Each time he took a selfie or a photo, lots of hearts and rapidfire hangul would follow it closely behind.

  ‘Kim-sshi you are so handsome!’ a lot of comments would say and then a trail of heart symbols would follow it or little kaomojis made with Hangul or kana. Keith guessed that people were a lot braver to say what they felt behind the comfort of their phone screens than say it in person. That is, if it ever came to a meet-and-greet in the future.

  “Step-ball-change, step-ball-change. Excellent. You memorized this dance faster than the last one, Keith.” His trainer said, coming to a stop beside him.

  Keith leaned on his left foot, hands on hips as he nodded in response. “Thanks, Yeong. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Well, I try,” He laughs. “There’s no point in rehearsing again. What’s Shiro having you do after this?”

  “Korean lessons.” Keith said with enough of a pained tone in his voice to earn a sympathetic smile from Yeong.

  “Reading it is easier than it looks, trust me.” His trainer assured, grabbing his water bottle from the floorboards and chugging a little. He grunted, capping the water bottle. “I think you’ll do fine in the TV spot. I wouldn’t worry about it. Ladies love a man who sounds like a foreigner I hear.”

  “Yeah...” Well that was helpful. If girls were his specialization. Yeong was lucky he was a good looking guy so that Keith could tolerate his rather oblivious inclinations regarding Keith’s lack of attraction to girls.

  Plus he was the only other English-speaking trainer he had apart from his language coach.

  It was rather difficult forming friendships with a barrier as big as communication between him and the rest of the company. Reading Korean was proving a bit more difficult than the actual speaking part, in spite of Keith seeing it everyday and Shiro talking in Korean around him a lot. He had hoped to subconsciously absorb the language for this career here, even if it was a stupid thing to hope for, Keith hoped for it anyway.

  “Mr. Jay is set on a talk show tomorrow evening,” Keith said.

  “Nervous?” Yeong asked.

  “Yeah.” Keith said, grabbing his phone from the floor and started to walk towards the door to exit the dance hall.

  “Don’t be,’ Yeong assured him as he followed behind him into the sparse long hallway that other dance rooms were connected to. “You’ll have Shiro there in case things get too rough.”

  He was right. At the end of the thought, Keith knew he’d have Shiro with him in case things were too rough to go ahead. He would definitely help him if he said something stupid on accident or acted out on an impulse as the usual case of events would be. Hopefully, the interview wouldn’t be that long and the questions not too invasive, that he’d have no trouble at all with them.

  God harvest his soul if he was asked what his ideal girl is.

  He could imagine how his impulsiveness would be able to flub up that one in multiple ways.

  ‘My ideal girl? She doesn’t exist!’. Or. ‘My ideal girl is just like my mother. Never there’. Ick, that was terrible. Or maybe he’d just laugh out loud, like the question was the funniest thing in the world to him, and it had never occurred to him to think about his ideal girl and the notion of it was absurd for him to even think about. But not the awkward, humbling laugh. The really nervous and cornered laugh that's to convince others that a part of him hadn't died upon being asked the question.

  Yeong locked up the studio behind him, slipping the key into his sweatpants pockets with a small jangle.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Kim.” Yeong said, slapping a friendly hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Keep up the good work; you may not need me anymore.”

  “Okay,’ Keith chuckled, “See you.”

  “See ya tomorrow, Keith!” Yeong went along and took a left turn to the front of the building to clock out for home.

  Keith stood in the hallway, listening to the sounds of dancing in the nearby studios.

  Looking through the windows, there were always groups of boys or girls rehearsing together.

  But he was here. In the hall. Alone.

  Having a one on one instructor made your rehearsal time faster and made learning dances easier. His backup dancers were always pre-instructed with the routines and since he was also the sole vocalist, he had to do intermediate moves to save his energy for singing and stay the object of attention. The center piece. The sole center piece.

  Maybe it was better that he wasn't part of an ensemble group. Thinking of having to quickly (and suddenly) bond with several strangers made Keith’s stomach turn a little. Being a solo artist meant that his company wouldn't compare him to the other members of his group. A group ensemble of boys would get popular quickly because of the number, but it was a double edged sword. Especially if down the road one of the members started pushing for a solo album or career to try to make it on his own. The other members would receive stigma from the public, and so would the member trying to break out. Fans of the entire group wouldn't want even one member to leave, stans who wanted their bias to expand his horizons would want what the single member wanted. It was messy. It was tricky.

  Keith’s water bottle crunched from the force of his hand. The sounds of the dancer footfalls blurring into the background.

  Then again, the relationships within the groups always seemed so natural after they got to know each other. Like they had been meant for each other, and former groups always stayed in contact even long after they had disbanded. Helping each other out later even after the lights had dimmed and the curtain had fallen on their days as a group.

  If Keith was honest with how he felt about ensemble k-groups. They were almost like...

  Almost like.

 

  Well, it was almost like.

 

  A family.

  Just a really big, really close family. A family that kept pushing each other to do their best, to eat their best, to try out new things, to tease, annoy, and joke around with. Even if the other members were more flexible than you were, individual successes became group successes and it benefited everyone in the end.

  Being a solo artist was secure, for sure.

  But you were still going at it solo.

 _Bzz, bzz._ Oh. That was Shiro, ready to pick him up for his Korean lessons.

  With a swipe, Keith responded. “Yeah?”

  “You finished early again?”

  Shiro’s voice was clear and had that tinge of protectiveness in his voice that Keith was starting to find super coddling, nonetheless it was Shiro and he was allowed to worry over him. Especially him.

  “Uh-huh, there wasn't much left that was new or unpracticed so we ended it early again.”

  “Great! That leaves you plenty of time to have with your language coach. I'll be there in a minute to pick you up.”

  “Hey Shiro?”

  “Yeah? What is it?”

  “Could you tell me again what it was like to be in a group? Your old group. Before you quit.”

  “What was it like to be with the Opus 5? Oh man, just saying the name takes me back. Well, what would you like to know?”

  “Did the five of you get attached to each other?” Keith asked. He could hear Shiro snort a small chuckle on the other end.

  “No, not at first. Definitely not at first. I remember Kuro hated me when we first met. He hated the fact I could sing and dance at a really young age. That and he also made fun of my haircut a lot. But after a while, I couldn't imagine life without the four of them. Even after we quit I went to Kuro’s wedding, _as his best man._ If you had told me that I'd end up at his wedding by his right hand at the beginning of Opus, I'd have probably gagged in front of you at the thought.”

  Keith let out a small laugh. He remembered Shiro calling him to complain about Kuro always pranking him in small ways and never getting caught. He was also there at Kuro’s wedding. Watching from the pews as Shiro stood next to Kuro and the other three members of Opus 5. They looked and acted like they were raised together as siblings.

  “Life is funny.” Keith said.

  “Oh for sure.” Shiro answered, his voice smiling. Then the line went into a pause and the sounds of distant traffic could be heard. “Why this all of a sudden?,’ He finally asked, his voice becoming Shiro the Brotherly. “We haven't talked about Opus 5 in ages. Are you okay?”

  “No, I'm fine just sorta... thinking about if I had signed up to be trained with a group.”

  “Keith... are you saying you don't want to do this anymore?”

  “No, I still want to do this!” Keith said quickly, suddenly feeling horrible at himself. Shiro had basically fought tooth and nail to get him the meeting with Jay and the contract. To quit this early in the game was a Deadly Consequence.

  “Alright.” Shiro the Brotherly shifted into Shiro the Manager. “Be sure to have your Korean notes and audio book out ready for Mr. Min in 5 minutes. I'm almost there. See you?”

  He didn't shift completely.  Shiro the Brotherly was still sort of there, listening for anything that might be wrong.

  “See ya,” Keith said simply, and pressed End Call.

  Wow. Smooth segue, Kim. What was he going to tell Shiro? That maybe being a solo artist was lonely? Of course it was lonely. They're called solo artists for a reason.

  But when Keith’s mind flashed back to the moment he was reading the Terms and Conditions, he never imagined having this much trouble coping with it. He always assumed Shiro would be there and it would have been all he would ever need.  But ever since preparation for his album started,  Keith had less and less chances to speak with Shiro the Brotherly.

  Shiro the Manager was on a tight schedule, and he needed to be strict to keep Keith on track and on time.

  Keith had his Korean notes in his bag at the front. The audio book was in his iPhone, ready to begin the next lesson.

  His shoes deftly squeaked down the hall as he made way to the lockers before you would be able to exit the building.

  He tried to reign in his wandering eyes at every door that showcased a group practice through the window.

  He ended up looking anyway.

  It stung him each time.

 

* * *

 

 

  Keith groaned. 

  Indeed Korean was easy to read after a while of study and daily practice.  

  But speaking it was practically impossible. It was super different from English. Mostly the word order and grammar, and the honorifics were like the ones in Chinese.

  The “tutoring” room was basically his tiny apartment’s living room and a language coach named Min Hyun (his name literally meant clever and wise of all convenient things) would come by and help with his pronunciations, elocution, and reading speeds. He had finished training early so there was more time left in between that and lessons.

  He had his earbuds in, listening to random radio stations on Spotify on his iPhone while he passed the time. Sometimes he would see “Forest Fire” in his recommended songlist and Keith couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride at how far he had come since the bright smoky room of Jay’s building on a late evening.

  Keith’s fingers lightly tapped on the table along to “Forest Fire” as he started the playlist. He stared out into his living space as he listened to the music.

  For a tiny apartment with a minimalistic thing going on _—_ the sparse light green walls and the tiny lights over the counter _—_ it was very homey. There was a bamboo plant tucked in the corner that made Keith feel like he was in a home living catalogue, but in the nicest way. The floorboards were a dark brown, almost like mahogany? There was a window in the farthest wall that overlooked the next building over and if you stood in front of it, you could see the open street below.

  It was fairly quiet in this time of day, most people were still at work and schools were still in session.

  Keith would be mostly kept in silence until he had to go somewhere, do something, then come back for lessons and sleeping. He didn’t really eat here, not really. His apartment was mostly like a station or a stop. Just a medium to get somewhere or to rest until he had to leave again. It was left the same way as before he started renting it. He didn’t think to decorate much or change anything, even the furniture.

  “Forest Fire” ended with the usual phrase ‘Light you up like a forest fire’. Keith had to personally thank whoever wrote that line. It was catchy and it had the song title in it too. How meta.

  The music quickly shuffled to a song that started with soft notes from a guitar. It was so entirely different from the heavy beats and trap of “Forest Fire”, that he was transfixed. It kept him from skipping to something more upbeat, so he just sat and listened.

  It was in Spanish. The voice was youthful, but not quite. Almost like it was midway between the roughness of an older man and the naivete of a younger one. Of the failed Spanish course Keith had taken in university, he could recognize some words here and there. Mostly words like ‘mañana’ and ‘mi amor’.

  The singer sounded so melancholy, like he was longing and yearning for someone. He missed someone really badly, someone he couldn’t have close to them because of distance or circumstance. The guitar and song picked up volume as it reached the chorus.

  “Besa mi alma, mi amor. Porque la distancia es dolor~ Quiero abrazarte, y entregarte. Lo mejor~” An orchestra went into crescendo, giving emotion where the guitar couldn’t reach. The pace picked up in the swell of the music, and Keith’s chest felt like it was expanding along with it. The voice became rough on a fast verse, as the singer cursed the world for keeping him away. Keith felt the hurt and bittersweetness in his throat. His voice cried out and then there was a quiet so intense it left Keith hanging on the highest note, his hands holding on tightly in his lap, like he was afraid of breathing and letting go. Of letting the singer's voice go.

  “Oceano mio~” The voice sang, letting out the last word softly, a quiet and intimate declaration.

  The guitar twanged the final notes, and then before the next song started loading, his finger hit the pause button on the album art of a blue rose on a very pretty guitar.

  And Keith just sat there.

  Staring blankly as he finally let himself take a breath, the fists he didn't even know he had made uncurling in his lap and his shoulders slumping. His entire body felt like it had been holding it in for so long even though the song length said it had only been three minutes and twenty five seconds.

  He had to have more. Of whoever this was.

  Keith quickly thumbed through to the album playlist and saw a familiar name in the artist info at the top of the page.

  Lance.

  This couldn’t be the same Lance could it?

  His _debut rival_ , Lance?

  As in, _his direct competitor on the current Billboard?_

  The same singer who performed “Dama loca”? One of many countless douchey Latino Top 40 contenders?

  Well, Keith relented, he couldn't say that like his own English debut will be any different. It'd be like the pot calling the kettle black.

  Keith couldn’t believe it.

  He closed Spotify to give Lance a quick Google.

  Jesus. With his clear blue eyes, smooth brown hair and douche-brand clothes, he already looked straight from the next big thing from the Popular Flirty and Dirty Young Latino Man Who Sings About Girls, Dancing, and Drinking factory (again, Keith had to remind himself that his English debut wouldn't be any different, but still).

  “Oceano mio” was a cut above the rest of Lance’s discography, except maybe for “Adulto y Miedoso” which was a brilliantly written yet catchy song detailing about the fears of failure and the future. There was no way either of these songs were written by Holt Corporation; the rhyming scheme was too different and the words too raw and profound to be written by a cold and heartless company. Neither of them had the “douche style”. Lance must have written them and got them approved. Which, Keith had to admit, must have taken him a lot of hard work for his songs to be considered for official production.

  He went back to Googling Lance and then found his Wikipedia page.

  Lance ( **born** _Lance_ _Carlos Martínez)_ is an arising hip hop/reggaeton singer and aspiring song writer. Born in **Cuba** ( _country_ ), he is bilingual, speaking both _English_ and _Spanish_ and has a current active contract with **Holt Corporation** ( _record company_ ).

  Then came the links to his Childhood, Discography, Reception, and Links.

  He couldn't help but read through everything and click a link to Lance’s first YouTube cover.

  Keith watched a young teenaged Lance Martínez strumming through a very nice cover of Es Tiempo De Cambiar by Juanes. The video was a gross 320p quality, but Keith enjoyed it nonetheless.

  At a knock at his door, he had to cut the video short.

  It was Mr. Min. “Ready for your lessons, Mr. Kim?”

  “Uh yeah, sure.” Keith said coolly, pocketing his phone but not before he liked the video and added it to Watch Later.

  It was only research, he told himself.

  Only research.

 

* * *

 

 

  Keith still (sort of) believed it was research even when he had streamed “Oceano mio” for the 37th time.

  He was pretty sure he had made up most of the streaming traffic for that song all by himself.

  Mr. Min had left the apartment promptly after a good 2 hour session.

  Keith had a hard time with some pronunciations and he doubly sucked at the elocution lessons today. Korean written in romanization, or ‘romaja’ was like trying to figure out how to read the ultimate franken-words. They were all squished together and Keith had to remind himself that the symbols were all related to make a sentence, but nothing was sticking for long.

  He sank into his couch like a boneless lump with a sigh. His eyes surveyed the evening air straying in from the nightlife outside his window. If he unfocused his eyes, the lights became those aesthetically pleasing bokeh circles that you have to use photo editing software to see.

  Pressing the play button for “Oceano mio” for the 38th time, Keith was free to let the music and the chill atmosphere to swallow him up. The couch became a cloud, the nightlife sounds an ambience, and the music a companion.

  “Te doy mi alma, mi amor~ Ya estamos juntos, nos’tros dos~ Y yo te espero en el otro lado, aunque lloro o estoy cansado. Mi vida y mi alegría, en la noche o en el dia~ Si puedo, escribo en las estrellas que eres mía~!”

  The pause that made Keith hold his breath. A passing car’s headlights travel lightly across his ceiling.

  “Oceano... mio~ Oh, oh.”

  Sleep was affecting his soberness, and Keith blinked blearily until he fell asleep to none other than the lullaby-like voice of his company’s direct competitor.

  This would have felt super ironic to him, had he been more conscious, but Keith was too tired to care, and too relaxed to be bothered to notice that his battery level had drudged to 5%, and a text from Shiro flashed on his screen.

  
_Talk show has been moved up to tomorrow 10am instead of 10pm_ , the text read. _Just a heads up. Be sure to have your phone charged._

_They can't wait to interview you! [happy emoji]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> So kiss my soul, darling girl. End my pain-just hold me and I'll give you the world.  
> You are my ocean~  
> I give you my soul, darling love~ We'll be together from up above~ I'll wait for you on the other side, even through the tears that I cry. My life and my joy, in the day or the night~ If I could I'd spell it out in the sky~!  
> You are... my ocean...~


End file.
